


The Handmaid's First Crush

by aquatarius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:24:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: Your name is Damara Megido, or the Handmaid, and his name is Dirk Strider, or the Bro, and you're pale as fuck for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't as pale as I wanted it to be, but I had to rush a lil to get it up today and it's all right.

  Your name is Damara Megido, better known as the Handmaid, and your diamond is waxing a beautifully light pale for this human. He’s strange, this Dirk ‘Bro’ Strider. He spends most of his time sitting and staring at walls. He’s been injured so deep in his head that not even the psychics you know could help him. And you know a _lot_ of psychics. You tap your claws on the coffee table as you watch him.

  He’s still. His breathing is even. His eyes are blank, staring at the coffee table and watching your nails click clack. You want to pap that cheek. Which is strange. Being a Demoness didn’t leave you a lot of time for relationships, so it’s all new.

  The feeling of wanting to reach out and brush your bright red claws against that perfect cheek bone, of wanting to curl your tall, lanky body around his, of wanting to make sure he never sees that damn puppet ever again, of wanting to stop him when he’s fighting with people…It’s all very new.

  You scowl and lift up your hand. Dirk doesn’t move.

  “Dirk.” You say. He blinks slowly. Then he moves, lifting his head to stare at you. “Are you hungry?”

  He shakes his head, very slow. Unsure. He doesn’t know if he’s hungry or not. Fuck, you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You shouldn’t be blushing, shouldn’t have your ears pricking up in excitement. But you are and you do. Why did you agree to baby sit him while the humans went off to poke around dream bubbles for their lost off spring?

  You get up and move around to sit next to him.

  “I want you to drink some tea.” You say. You remember him a cup of steaming hot green tea, and takes the cup from your hands. You smile (Still a hard expression for you, even after all this time.) at him. “Good. Drink it.”

  Dirk drinks the tea. He takes his time, too, sipping it only once every few minutes. The two of you sit in this wonderfully peaceful silence. You want to touch his shoulder, want to stroke it and tell him he’ll be all right. But he doesn’t like touch. So you refrain.

  Someday, he’ll get used to it, as he gets used to being away from that puppet. You got used to being out of under Lord English’s thumb. Now look at you, nursing a pale crush on this human.

  Maybe you’re the pathetic one. Nursing a crush on someone who could never feel the same way that you do. What sort of an idiot would do that?

  Dirk drinks his tea and you watch and nurse your pale crush.

 

* * *

 

  It is six months (And two days and nine hours and three seconds. Time doesn’t really pass in the dream bubbles, not the way it passes out there in life, but a time player like you can sense these things.) before he lets you touch him. You stroke his wrist, a small, casual little touch, and he doesn’t move or react. It’s two more months before he twists his hand around and holds onto yours.

  Delight is what you feel. A quiet, desperate delight that fills up your soul and makes you _happy_ to know him. The two of you take walks, and you talk and he listens. Occasionally, he’ll mutter something in response, or squeeze onto your hand to let you that he’s done and needs you to be quiet for a little while. You always respect his boundaries. You’re lucky he lets you do even this, to be quite honest.

  Almost a human year passes, though, before you find yourself curled up on a pile with him.

  You take it very slow. You slid your fingers through his hair, and speak quietly about how you feel for him. He nods and twists his head to meet your eyes. His eyes are blank, but they carry something more than the uncomprehension and lostness that they had. You think you’re helping him.

  Once he’s agreed to let you try to relax him via a small nod and an even smaller ‘yes’, you start. You stroke your hand through his hair a final time and then down to the back of his neck, and use your shoulder to nudge his until he’s on his side and his back is to you. No one in their right mind has ever knowingly turned their back to you.  First time for everything, you suppose.

  You stroke the back and sides of his neck with both your hands, and play with the tips his shock white hair. You hum as well, a quiet, calming tune.

  Slowly, he starts to relax. You brush your nails against his cheek, pap him, stoke his jaw, press your forehead between his shoulder blades so you can smell his thick, sour, human smell. It’s perfect, and you think you could die of happiness.

  Dirk’s breathing evens out, eventually, and you run your hands down his sides and wrap them around his torso. You close your eyes, and you too, begin to sleep. You have a feeling you just started your first moiraillegiance.


End file.
